Page 5 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Running into Millie Grant for the first time since she visited my hospital room after the accident shocked me more than I care to admit. I can’t reconcile the hatred I’ve held for the girl who lured Regina and I into such a horrible situation and then ran away instead of helping with the woman my picky daughter trusted on sight. The chemistry between them was almost palpable. If I look past Millie’s haphazard tossing of my child, she saved her from running out into traffic and encouraged her to hug me.

Gratification threatens to soften my heart, but I push the foolhardy emotion aside. Ever since the live power line landed in the puddle at my feet and Regina saved me, I vowed to never look at another woman in my life.

I curse my stubborn cock. It never once rose for Regina. In the thirteen years we were together, the only time I touched her was the night someone drugged me and she conceived our daughter.

My attraction to Millie doesn’t matter. I’ll never see her again.

The door opens and a woman in a long, flowy gown enters with a screaming infant. Lola’s sour expression as she runs toward me says more than words ever could. I rise and offer her my hand. She wraps tiny digits around my pointer finger and hurries in front of me into the hall.

Silly little mite throws the worst tantrums but can’t handle other people crying. I’ll never understand the female mind.

When Lola balks at entering the sanctuary, probably because of the loud organ, I carefully lift her into my arms. She’s too fragile—and I don’t have a woman’s flared hip for her to straddle—so I rest her bum on my forearm and hold her high against my side so she can look over my shoulder if she chooses.

Her thumb never leaves her mouth and she closes a fist around my lapel, but she doesn’t cower or flinch when I step through the side door. Satisfied with her compliance, I stride to our designated seat as the third bridesmaid and groomsman reach the end of the aisle.

I hide my discomfort as my cock hardens in a rush at the sight of the fourth bridesmaid. Millie Grant glides down the aisle with imperial grace. A small part of me—the adolescent boy still trapped in his hospital bed—longs to push her over and watch her totter in her ridiculously tall and sexy high heels while a much larger, more annoying part of me longs to pull her down onto my lap and wrap her long legs around my hips.

Disgusted at my own thoughts and refusing to expose my daughter to my lack of control, I lean down to set her on the pew, but she tightens her fist on my shirt and glares at the woman beside us.

I sit, hiding a wince of pain, and settle Lola on the pew between me and the armrest.

Millie reaches the end of the aisle. Her partner guides her to her place before releasing her. His reluctance to leave her is obvious in his lingering touch and hungry gaze.

A wave of fury washes over me. I struggle to breathe through the unexpected impact. Like a boy possessive over his favorite toy, I long to snatch her up and hide her away so only I can play with her.

Millie Grant is not mine. Jumping over the pews and burying my fist in the man’s face would be pointless.

I don’t want Millie Grant.

My cock throbs against my trouser seams, mocking me in ways I never imagined possible.

I need to stay far, far away from the serene angel at the front of the room. Despite her modest dress and simple makeup, her high heels and seductive curves earn her appreciative glances from every man in attendance.

With a sneer, I shift my glare away from the men of the congregation and meet the eyes of the woman beside me. The calculation in her expression as she studies me encases my heart with ice. Her dismissiveness towards Lola ensures I will never allow her any deeper into my life than she currently is.

I display my disinterest with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow and a slight downturning of my lips. The lady huffs and swivels her attention to the altar.

Turning to check on Lola, I stiffen as I realize she stares at Millie with almost eerie intensity.

Exasperated disbelief curls through me. Even my own daughter plots against me.

I lift Lola into my arms to leave as soon as the pastor dismisses the congregation, but the crowd hurries out from the pews and causes congestion at the door in their rush to line up for sendoff.

Lola wiggles in my arms. I set her on her feet and reach for her hand, but she bolts away.

I call her name and chase after her.

She weaves between the people with ease. I curse under my breath as she barrels straight into the skirts of the woman I swore to stay far, far away from. Pale blue eyes widen in surprise, but Millie Grant bends and lifts Lola onto her hip with enviable ease.

I silently promise to chop off my wayward cock, but it turns to granite in my trousers anyway at the brief view of Millie’s cleavage.

My daughter may be the death of me, but the softening of her expression as she leans her head onto Millie’s shoulder gives me pause.

She never looked at her nanny—or her mother—like that. Maybe I shouldn’t fight this so hard.

No. Sometimes a father must do the hard, unsavory things to protect their child, even if it means the child hates them for it.

Millie Grant will not weasel her way back into my life. I’ll never let my daughter near her again.